𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔 𝐏𝐒𝐋𝐄 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝟏 – 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜: A Good Way to Spend Time 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬: Family Time, Reading, Phone

A Good Way to Spend Time

A tingle of pleasure washed over me as my thumb tapped on the red button on my phone screen. The mouth-watering aroma of roast chicken, stir-fried kailan and freshly cooked rice filled the air, melding with the distinct woody scent of my grandfather’s house. My mother had spent hours cooking my grandfather’s favourite meal, and the food glimmered appetisingly before me. My lips curved upwards as I admired the photograph on my phone screen, my eyes sparkling with satisfaction. However, my pleasure was short-lived.

“Always on her phone, this girl,” my mother chided, shooting me a disapproving glare. “Why don’t you eat the food while it’s hot? The camera doesn’t have to eat, you know.”

I bit back a sigh as I lowered my phone, my short-lived satisfaction dispelled beneath a wave of regret. My mother was perpetually irritated by my constant phone usage and never ceased to remind me to be present in the moment instead of being stuck behind a phone screen. Thankfully, at that very moment, my grandfather strode into the kitchen and shot me a cheeky wink. As he joined me, my parents and my aunt at the dinner table, he waved his arm dismissively toward my mother. “She sees something you don’t see. Let her take her photographs.”

My grandfather and I were like two peas in a pod. Despite having an enormous age gap, I felt like I could always be myself around him, and he truly saw me in ways no one else did. Though his face was creased with smile lines and his skin sagged in places, he had an exuberant youthfulness that was a constant source of comfort and inspiration for me. Joy rekindled, my lips twitched into a soft grin as I raised my phone to snap a photograph of him bathed in the dim light of the kitchen’s pendant lamp casting arabesques of dappled gold on his arms as he reached for his favourite pair of chopsticks. The lacquered bamboo glistened a vivid crimson. It was such an everyday sight, but for some reason, that made it all the more special. Perhaps my parents could not understand, but I knew my grandfather did.

“Emily! What did I say?” my mother barked, slamming her hand on the table. “Put your phone down this instant. Do you know how inconvenient it is for us to wait for you to take photos all the time? You’re not just wasting your time – you’re wasting ours too.”

I flinched at her words, bowing my head down as I dropped my phone on the table and folded my hands in my lap. Embarrassment and shame rained down on me as I swallowed the hurt. Without waiting for me, my mother huffed and ordered us all to begin eating. However, the roaring appetite I had felt just moments ago was long gone.

After dinner, my grandfather ushered me into his study room and gestured eagerly at me to show him the photographs I had taken. A thoughtful expression descended on his face as he tilted his head from right to left, eyeing each photograph with a sharp, discerning gaze. “Good, you are getting better. Remember the rule of thirds I taught you. Use the camera grid to help you get the precise balance you need. There’s no shame in using the grid if it helps you learn.”

I nodded obediently, making a mental note in my head. My eyes swept over his study room and lingered on a single photograph that hung on the wall. I had always admired it for as far back as I could remember. It was a photograph that my grandfather had taken of my late grandmother. She was dressed in a lustrous silk qipao, her head resting on the palm of her hand as she read the newspaper. Though it was just an innocuous photograph, I could feel the love my grandfather had for her radiating from the image. It was this exact image that had sparked my fervent passion for photography. It lived on long after my grandmother’s passing, as did his undying devotion for her. In the hands of my grandfather, photographs were nothing short of magical spells.

“Grandpa, maybe I should stop taking photographs,” I murmured, the words coming out of my mouth feeling bitter and alien, like I had just committed a sin. My grandfather’s head shot up as he stared at me, looking flabbergasted at my suggestion. “Mum is always so angry at me using the phone. She thinks I’m addicted and I’m doing something bad. Am I?” I intoned. An air of despondency hung over me like a raincloud. The constant tug-of-war between my mother and me had planted deep doubts in my mind.

To my surprise, my grandfather patted my cheek affectionately. “There is no such thing as bad technology. There are only good or bad ways to use it. Don’t worry, one day she will understand. Someday, your photos will change her mind. Don’t you dare give up,” he said, waving a finger at me with a firm look. I nodded once more, putting my trust in his wisdom.

Don’t you dare give up. My grandfather’s words reverberated over and over in my mind, spurring me on to spend all the free time I had snapping photographs. I wanted to make him proud. Though my parents did not allow me to leave the house, stating that I was still too young to be gallivanting the streets on my own, I took every opportunity I had to take photographs on my journey to school, on my way back home, and in the confines of my home. With each photograph I took, my grandfather’s photography lessons echoed in my mind like a mantra. I sent my best pictures to my grandfather for his feedback and I persevered despite my mother’s irritation, knowing in my heart that I was making good use of my time. I was getting better at it with every passing day.

The following week, my family made our way to Grandfather’s house once again for our weekly family dinner. To my surprise, he invited us to gather in the living room first. He disappeared briefly into his study before emerging with a box wrapped in iridescent scarlet paper. “This is for you,” he told me as he planted it on my lap. My jaw dropped and I blinked in disbelief. “But before you open it, I want to show everyone all your hard work.”

My grandfather proceeded to turn our attention to a hefty photobook on the table. The moment he flipped aside the front page, a gasp escaped me. I cupped my hand over my mouth as my eyes zoomed in on the photograph. It was mine! Grandfather began praising each photograph, its composition and balance, its subject matter and perspective, as he flipped through the pages to reveal dozens of my best images. As I listened to him go on with such overwhelming passion and praise, a glimmer of tears welled up in my eyes. I had not realised how much I had wanted to be appreciated for my photography till then, and seeing the wonder and amazement in my family’s eyes touched me so deeply that I could no longer see beyond my veil of tears. Wordlessly, I threw myself into my grandfather’s arms and enveloped him in a bear hug.

“So this is why I have bought her a proper camera,” Grandfather remarked, his arm wrapped tight around me. “As you can see for yourself, she has talent and she is hardworking. She can make the ordinary seem extraordinary. I hope you won’t discourage her anymore, Lisa. Your daughter knows how to spend her time wisely,” he added firmly, looking sternly in my mother’s direction. “She just needs our support.”

My mother blinked at the words, seemingly moved to tears. She wiped her cheek and to my utter surprise, nodded in agreement. “Come here,” she whispered, opening her arms. I sprinted over to embrace her, feeling her warmth sink into me. “All those photographs you were taking of me cooking, cleaning and working… You were just showing me how much you love me,” she realised, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll support you, darling, I promise. I see it now.”

Up till this day, I can still vividly recall the ineffable pride and relief I felt the day my grandfather revealed how I had been truly spending my time on my phone. To be loved is to be truly seen. The day my family vowed to support my passion in photography taught me that a single picture is truly worth a thousand words. I would forever owe a debt of gratitude to my grandfather for teaching me how to see, in more ways than one.

A Good Way To Spend Time

From the periphery of my vision, the flashing of cameras and the vigorous clapping of the audience felt like they went on for an eternity. Instinctively, I glanced at my watch, measuring each second that passed in terms of how much work I could finish in that time. The hosts’ voices rang out all of a sudden, announcing my name. I inhaled deeply before placing my foot on the stage. I had treated myself to a sophisticated pair of leather shoes as well as a custom suit just for my time in the spotlight as the year’s winner of the Youth Entrepreneurship Award. Ignoring the chill that came over me, I began striding to the middle of the stage. As I gripped the guest-of-honour’s hand and received the trophy that I had spent my past several months working to attain, I swivelled around to face the photographer who was furiously snapping away.

All I could see was a gaping abyss in the audience where my family should have been seated.

At that very moment, I felt the iciness from the trophy seeping into my body and my heart through my trembling fingers. I struggled to keep the smile from slipping off my face as I blinked back tears from the overwhelming loneliness that made the trophy feel heavier than it was. The award was the goal that had motivated me to maintain a strict schedule all these months, allowing myself to only commit to the most productive of activities. I should have been jumping for joy and basking in pride at what I had managed to achieve. I should have been able to call my parents and gloat, “I told you so. I’m still a winner whether you come or not.” Instead, it had made it obvious that I had isolated myself in search of success. I had succeeded at optimising my time down to the second but I was completely alone. I averted my eyes from anyone wishing to congratulate me as I stumbled off the stage, mumbling a quick excuse as I boarded the bus home.

While watching the manicured hedges and fluorescent streetlamps blur past the bus window, I mentally rewound the last conversation I had with my family.

“Don’t you think you’ve been spending too much time on this little business of yours? Don’t forget to spend some time with your family too.” I could not forget the frown of disapproval on my mother’s face as she tried to push a plate of homemade curry across to me two Saturdays ago. I felt my muscles tense defensively as I did a quick mental calculation of how long it would take me to finish the curry. I had a lot on my plate that day and could not afford to sit and eat for too long. “It’s not just a little business, Mum. If I win the award, more people will recognise me. Even if it takes a lot of my time, it’s worth it. By the way, I’ll just have a sandwich on my own later.”

All of a sudden, I heard a loud slam on the table. Instantly, I knew I had angered my father. “We haven’t seen you home in months, but you seem to have all the time to meet customers and your friends. You won’t even stay to eat the meal that your mother spent the whole morning cooking when your neighbours would pay just to have a bite of it. Even when your mother and I are busy with the store, we still make time to eat with you and Talia. Where is the respect for your family? If you keep this up, you can forget about seeing us at this awards ceremony.”

Seated across from me, my sister, Talia, nodded indignantly. Her ponytail was loose after a day of cooking alongside our mother and some hair was practically escaping into her bowl of soup without her realising. I knew she was seething at me. Unlike me, Talia always strived to be there for our parents whenever she had the time. On multiple occasions, she had attempted to lecture me on how ungrateful she thought I was. Our parents operated an economical rice store in the nearby hawker centre, which allowed my mother to share her phenomenal cooking with the neighbourhood. However, when Talia and I were young, our parents had to close the store early to ensure that they had time to take care of us. Even at the expense of profits and precious time, parenting had always been their priority. Talia clearly treasured the amount of care our parents put into sustaining our family’s bond and she never failed to remind me of her disappointment in me.

I had reached a boiling point by then. Feeling my face heat up with frustration, I roughly pushed my chair back and out came the words I could not take back, “I really don’t care, Dad. Even if you don’t come, I’ll still be a winner.” With that, I spun around and left the house.

The familiar ring of the bell snapped me out of my reverie, and I realised I had reached my home. Since that day, I had barely spoken to my parents or Talia. Following my timetable that allowed for zero leisure, I woke at six every morning and only arrived home late at night, when I had finished all my tasks. It was unsurprising that I had no time left over to make amends with my family. By a force of habit, I glanced at my watch. It was nine at night. I hated to admit it, but it had pained me to see other award winners surrounded by their loving families while balancing bouquets of flowers and trophies. It had struck a nerve as it reminded me of how I had alienated my family with my misguided idea of time management. I had believed that the best way to spend my time was on productive activities that could help me succeed in life, only to realise that success meant nothing without those who cared about me. I felt like a fool.

Was it too late for me?

Just then, I caught sight of a familiar silhouette peeping at me through my flat’s windows. I narrowed my eyes as I beckoned that silhouette over. Within seconds, the main door cracked open and Talia stealthily made her way to me. Bitterness swelled in my stomach as her eyes swept casually over my trophy, unimpressed. “What do you want? Aren’t you too busy receiving a mountain of awards?” she interrogated.

To my absolute mortification, I broke down in tears as my trophy clattered to the ground and lightly scraped my pristine new shoes. Talia awkwardly patted my back while she waited for me to regain my composure. Once I had finished wiping my face, I apologised to her for the way I had treated her. Though she forgave me instantly, a sense of despair weighed relentlessly on me as I wondered if my parents would ever forgive me. Looking at me thoughtfully, her face suddenly lit up. “It’s Sunday tomorrow. I have the perfect idea to help you make it up to Mum and Dad. I’m just not sure if we have enough time to pull it off.”

For the first time that day, a natural smile tugged at the corners of my lips. If there was one thing I had learnt to do in my single-minded pursuit of success, it was making the most out of limited time. For once, I would use that skill for my loved ones.

Over the next several hours, Talia and I got to work in the kitchen. I shrugged off my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves as she began ordering me around. Though I used to protest when she treated me like her servant, I did not complain one bit. I even secretly delighted in the sign that our relationship was returning to normal. With Talia’s astounding knowledge of our mother’s recipes and my strict organisation skills, we outpaced the minute hand on the clock. Once all the food had been packed neatly into two large picnic baskets and the kitchen was sparkling clean, I took a quick shower and waited for our parents to wake.

As I fixed my eyes on the clock on the wall, I felt a sense of dread set in. After all, it had been so long since I last spent quality time with my parents. What if they had given up and did not want to see me again? Before I could reassure myself, my phone lit up. It was a message from my friend, Derek. He had played a critical role in getting my business off the ground as he had introduced countless customers to me. His message invited me to a dinner that night with some customers who wanted to congratulate me on my award. I eagerly began to agree, when I realised I was once again sacrificing my family time. Shaking my head, I declined Derek’s offer, trying my best to ignore the feeling that I was missing out on something important. Though I was trying to change, old habits die hard.

“I see that you’ve decided to eat with us after all.”

My father’s voice caused me to jump as I tore my eyes away from my phone screen. Talia stifled a giggle at my obvious anxiety. My parents had entered the kitchen without making a sound. Scrambling to stand upright, I looked into his eyes, unable to find the words to express my apologies. It turned out that it was not needed, as he gripped my shoulder and asked what Talia and I had planned. I cleared my throat and explained that I would like to go for a morning picnic with them. Talia and I had spent the night cooking all the dishes that our mother was best at, including the curry I had rejected before. As I informed my parents of the plan, my voice began shaking in anxiety. Perhaps my parents would prefer to spend their time at the store instead of seeing me.

My mother must have noticed as she announced cheekily, “My customers will have to go without my food for one day!” before she reached out to embrace me. It was a feeling that I missed terribly. Without uttering a word, my father hoisted the two baskets and started marching to the entrance in an implicit gesture of his forgiveness. My mother and Talia chuckled before dragging me along too, and we all piled into the family car before heading to the park.

For the rest of the day, bubbling laughter floated up and evaporated into the humid air. The food that Talia and I had packed disappeared without us realising, even though we had taken our time to savour the flavours. After so long, I could finally eat curry with my family without thinking about the next task on my schedule. Conversation flowed as if nothing had happened in the months before. After we finished the picnic, we simply lay on the picnic mat as my parents dozed off. Just one week ago, the idea of lazing around without doing anything productive would have been thoroughly appalling. Yet, I was starting to find that sometimes doing nothing but listening to birdsong can be a fulfilling way to spend time with my family. I felt the tension and stress melt away from my body as tranquil contentment took their place.

As noon arrived and the sun blazed almost viciously in the sky, I brought my arm up to shield my vision. At that moment, the glint of my watch’s glass display caught my eye and I realised that I had not looked at it even once that day. I had stopped measuring my day in terms of productivity and started thinking of it as an opportunity to connect with my family. All thoughts of schedules and trophies faded away as I understood, for the first time in an eternity, what it meant to spend my time well.

A Good Way To Spend Time

Ding! Ding! A gleeful smile spread across my face when I checked my notifications. I had just gained another ten followers on TikTok! Likes and comments were pouring in. My latest video was going viral! The dopamine rush was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I rushed towards my vanity, swiping on a new layer of lip gloss I had just purchased at the mall. Then, I proceeded to curl my hair with the hair curler I begged my parents for last Christmas. One last check in the mirror and I was ready. Extending my phone out, I tilted it down slightly for the best angle before starting a new video. Before I could speak, I was rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

My mother peeked her head inside my beautifully curated room. “Carrie! Are you ready to go?”

I paused my video and rolled my eyes in exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

My mother frowned and waved her phone at me. “We are going to celebrate Grandmother’s birthday at that dim sum restaurant, remember?” When she saw the blank look on my face, she added that she even sent me a text last week to remind me.

I curled my lip in disdain. The old dim sum restaurant we went to was hardly a place I wanted to be seen at, much less eat at. “I hate dim sum! Don’t you know that? Besides, you should have reminded me yesterday. You know how busy I am. I can’t go. I have to make new videos today.” A look of disappointment flashed across my mother's face. “It’s just dinner, Carrie. Surely you can make your videos another day.”

“No, I can’t,” I retorted. “My latest video is going viral and I need to have a good follow-up for it. Besides, I’m on a diet.”

“Suit yourself,” Mother muttered as she left, resigned. Annoyance flared up inside me. She could have at least closed the door! I huffed as I slammed the door closed. Finally, some peace and quiet. I checked my hair in the mirror before starting my task again. People underestimate just how time-consuming creating content could be. The numerous takes just to get the perfect shot, the editing, the planning…

My parents did not understand why I was so obsessed with social media popularity, but how could they? They were dinosaurs from another era. I was part of the new generation, one that was practically raised on the Internet. Becoming a famous influencer and having my own fashion and make-up line was my dream ever since I was eight years old. I was well on my way, having over ten thousand followers after two years of being an active online presence.

After uploading my new video, I scrolled on Instagram, liking and commenting on my fellow influencers’ posts and stories. It was a good way to network and to keep up with the latest trends. The sun dipped below the horizon as evening descended. I switched on my lights, my eyes glued to my screen. As I swiped, the latest update from fellow influencer @PennyPetal appeared on my feed. She was showing off her birthday gift from her parents – a luxurious, quilted leather bag that cost thousands of dollars. I could not help but seethe in jealousy. She was so lucky to have such generous parents! All mine did was criticise me and nag at me.

Out of the blue, the lights went out abruptly. I shrieked in fear before turning on the flashlight on my phone. Cautiously, I made my way down the stairs to the living room. Peering out of the window, I saw that the neighbours were affected too. In this case, there was nothing to do but wait. I rummaged through the drawers, relieved when I found a torchlight. I unlocked my phone, ready to resume scrolling.

Just then, a window popped open on my phone. It was a low battery alert! I groaned in frustration. Heading back into my room, I searched for my portable charger, only to find that it was out of battery too. “Seriously?” I huffed in disbelief. Tossing the portable charger aside, I stood with my arms akimbo. What am I going to do now? I racked my brain for alternatives as I paced back and forth. And then, it was like a lightbulb went off in my head.

I scurried upstairs and pulled at the string in the ceiling, which caused a set of collapsable steps to unveil itself. Gripping the torchlight firmly in one hand, I climbed up the steps into the attic. It had been years since I had entered this dusty place. However, I was holding out hope that my parents had kept my old iPhone here. I had a vague memory of them shoving our old electronics into a box and keeping it in the attic. Typical hoarder behaviour. The musty smell of the attic made me grimace. I swept the torchlight across the attic and decided to start from the box nearest to me. It was full of my parents’ old belongings. From what I gleaned, it was mostly yearbooks, certificates, sentimental objects they could not bear to part with.

I quickly moved on to the next box, which was filled with old DVDs and comic books my father enjoyed. Then, I saw a box labelled “Carrie”. This piqued my curiosity, and I opened the box, expecting to see baby clothes and other related objects. I sifted through the box and was satisfied to see that I was right. However, I also found a set of diaries in the box. There were three diaries in total, and the first one was labelled ‘Age 0 to 5’, while the second was ‘Age 6-12’. The third one was unlabelled. I flipped to a random page. My mother’s cursive handwriting was neatly scribbled in the pages. Strange. I did not know that she kept diaries. Since I had plenty of free time, I decided to read them in chronological order. As I read, I found myself transported to another time through my mother’s raw and honest writing…

The first few years were chaotic and beautiful. My parents were young and inexperienced, yet it was undeniable that they were excited to raise me as best as they could. She revealed that the doctor had told her she would have a difficult time conceiving. When she found out she was pregnant with me, she was ecstatic. My father called me our little miracle. However, the road ahead was not smooth sailing. My mother had a difficult pregnancy and had to quit her full-time job because her body was so weak. Despite everything, she remained optimistic. Meanwhile, my father worked hard to support the family.

My heart twinged when I read the next entry by my mother. She wrote, “These days, I barely get any sleep. I have to wake up to feed little baby Carrie. When she cries, I have to soothe her until she falls asleep again. But it’s more than worth it, because I get to spend time with my precious miracle.”

I flipped over to the next page. Memories of my childhood years came flooding back to me. Our annual camping trips, family outings to the beach and every milestone were carefully documented. Everything from my first steps to my first dance performance was captured in the diaries. I could not believe how meticulous and thoughtful my mother was. The diary entries also invoked a sense of nostalgia in me that caused my eyes to water slightly.

Finally, I arrived at the final diary. Unlike the first two, the entries in this one were shorter and briefer. “Carrie asked me to drop her off at the mall today. I’m glad that she’s making friends, but I’m worried that the distance between us is getting harder to bridge. We haven’t done anything as a family in a while.”

The next one read, “Just had a fight with Carrie because she thinks I’m being too controlling. Is it wrong to limit her screentime and monitor her online activity? She used to confide in me and tell me things. Now, I’m like a pest that she wants to get rid of. Hubby thinks that she’s in her rebellious teenager phase. He thinks that I should just let go. Maybe he’s right.”

As I continued flipping the pages, guilt stabbed me in the chest. Hot tears escaped from my eyes and landed on one of the pages, smearing the ink. I was confronted with all the times I was disrespectful and neglectful towards my parents. The entries were once hopeful and happy, but they changed into a tone that was dejected and anxious. Eventually, they tapered off as I shut myself off from my parents, only speaking to them if I needed something.

I could not believe how ungrateful I was. I dedicated my time towards chasing likes and fame online and lost sight of what was truly important in life. Gathering the diaries in my arms, I trudged downstairs, wondering how to make amends.

I was greeted by the sight of my parents, who had just returned home. The power was back and they popped something large on the dining table. “Carrie, we bought your favourite pizza for you on the way home,” my father said, pointing towards a pizza box. “You shouldn’t be skipping meals at your age.” Then, my parents noticed my tear-stained face and the diaries I clutched in my arms.

My mother’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, Carrie-”

I rushed towards my mother and enveloped her in a hug. “I’m so sorry that I’ve been a bad daughter!”

She wrapped her arms firmly around me as I broke down sobbing. Between gasps for air, I muttered that I was sorry repeatedly. My father silently joined us in a group hug. Even without any words, I knew that they had forgiven me.

From that day onwards, I was more intentional with my time. While I had not given up on my influencer dream, I was determined to not get carried away. I had to prioritise my family first. I set aside time to watch old movies with my father and go on shopping trips with my mother. Since I was not glued to my screen, I was able to be in the moment, and I even learnt new things about my parents.

I even revived our camping trip tradition. Though part of me thought that I had outgrown camping, I approached the trip with a new perspective. I was no longer a child, but a young adult. Determined to learn new skills from my parents, I helped to set up the tent and even started a fire from scratch! I It was amazing to find out that I was more capable than I imagined, and I felt empowered. I also did not miss the look that my parents exchanged between themselves. It was undoubtedly a look of pride.

My favourite part, however, was sitting around the campfire. We told stories and exchanged jokes. It was the most meaningful family time that conjured up memories of past trips. As we toasted marshmallows, I asked my parents what they wanted for Christmas. “How about a coffee machine? Or a new wallet? Dad, your wallet is totally falling apart! It’s practically two flaps held together by glue and a prayer!” I chortled as I stuffed the warm marshmallow into my mouth and chewed. My father’s eyes twinkled in amusement before he countered, “What are you talking about? It’s a deconstructed art piece that has retained full functionality!” At this point, he was just showing off his linguistic prowess. We bantered back and forth while my mother gazed at us lovingly.

Shifting closer to me, she put her arms around me and squeezed tightly. “You don’t have to give us anything, Carrie. Your presence is the best gift for us.” Warmth flooded my entire body as the corners of my lips lifted. If I could freeze time, I would pause at this exact moment.

Time is a gift that should be spent wisely. The day I uncovered the immeasurable love my parents had for me made me realise that instead of spending all my time online, I should use it to connect with my family as well. I realised that the temporary rush of happiness I felt when I gained social media followers could not be compared to the enduring joy that family brought.